


The Narrow Road

by Littleshebear



Category: Destiny (Video Games), Destiny - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flashbacks, Romance, Slow Burn, Takanome Rangers - Freeform, The Dark Age (Destiny), Zavala/Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleshebear/pseuds/Littleshebear
Summary: The lives and loves of Commander Zavala; his journey to the Traveler, the founding of the City, and how a chance meeting with a Takanome Ranger along the way helped shape him into the Commander we know today.





	1. Prologue.

_How many fell on the road to the City? How few made the last leg of the journey with a Ghost over their shoulders?_  

-  **Pilgrim’s Cloak flavour text.**

* * *

 

Zavala sat cross-legged under a rock overhang, with his spear, a trophy from a fight with a vandal, laid across his lap. His ghost hovered beside him. Every few minutes, she would nervously turn her optic skyward, watching for any change in the weather. Zavala suspected it would snow soon. Couldn’t be helped, they had to keep going. They wouldn’t be safe until they found the Traveler.

_‘If anything happens to me, look for the blue flowers. Follow the flowers, they’ll see you home.’_

The trail of flowers had ended weeks ago. There were no flowers here, no plant life of any kind, just snow as far as the eye can see. He had planted the bulbs left to him at the end of the trail, just before the ground froze and he carried on, his direction determined purely by his and his ghost’s instincts. The pull of the Light was their compass, gut feelings their only map.

[Should we go now?] Zavala fancied he felt a tremor from Izanami through their neural link. He wondered if she was feeling the cold too, he’d never known cold like it. His Light could mitigate it to an extent but he was at the stage of forgetting what warmth felt like.

_‘If you have to cross an ice field, watch out for crevasses. Only do it when the snow bridges are strongest, never during a thaw. Travel at night if you have to, just make sure the snow bridges are frozen.’_

[Just a little longer.] He replied. [Try not to worry, Iz. We’re close, I can feel it. Do you feel it?]

[Yes,] she said, sending waves of uncertainty through their link. [But I’m scared it’s just wishful thinking at this point.]

Zavala decided it was time and picked up his spear, using it to pull himself to his feet. [We’ll make it.] He blinked his tired eyes before setting off in the direction they were both convinced the Traveler lay. This endless snow gave him a headache, eyes are not supposed to look on nothing but white for weeks on end. He would have sold both his souls to see something green. He missed green so much. It was slow going, the snow was deep, every step an effort. He tried to distract himself from the cold in his bones and the blisters on his feet by concentrating on the dual voices spurring him on; the first, his Ghost, hovering ahead of him calling out encouragement. The second, Sasha, echoing through his memories.

He suddenly felt his feet give way beneath him and he fell through a patch of snow that wasn’t nearly as strong as the thought it was. He heard Izanami scream his name out loud and he somehow had the presence of mind to keep a hold of his spear. He drove the point into the ice and used it to stop his descent into the crevasse. An undignified scrabble ensued and he eventually hauled himself out.

_‘Use your spear to test the snow before you step in it.’_

He rolled over onto his back, panting from exertion. “I know,” he breathed.

_‘Use your spear!’_

“I know, Sashenka, I hear you.”

[Zavala?] Izanami hovered anxiously over him. [Are you alright?]

[I’m fine. I just need a minute.]

[You were talking to yourself.] Izanami’s outer shell rotated in a pattern Zavala knew signified curiosity or confusion. [Did you hit your head?]

“No I wasn’t. I’m said I’m fine.” He got back to his feet and gingerly retrieved his spear from the edge of the crevasse before carrying on. He suppressed a chuckle when he noticed Izanami frantically scanning all the snow in his path for hidden hazards.

The snow began to come down with a vengeance and the wind swung around so they were walking straight into it. The wind-driven snow felt like thousands of tiny pinpricks against his face and he found himself using his spear more and more, less to test the snow ahead of him and more to use it to haul himself forwards.

_‘You’ll make it.’_

When he reached the summit he didn’t realise how much he had been looking at the ground, willing his feet to keep putting one in front of the other.

_‘With or without me, you’ll make it.’_

[Zavala!] Izanami intruded on his memories. [Zavala, look!]

Zavala raised his eyes slowly, seeing the beginnings of a tree-line below him, then a conflagration of huts, campfires and their accompanying plumes of smoke. He looked up and then he saw it; a massive, white sphere suspended above the settlement. It was scorched, massive sections missing from its hull but it was unmistakably the Traveler.

[We’re here. Zavala, we’re here!] Izanami darted off down the hill before shooting back to wait for Zavala, her impatience obvious.

Zavala, for his part, took a moment to absorb the scene before him. He wanted to commemorate the moment. He swallowed down a lump in his throat as he surveyed the burgeoning town before him.

 _We did it, Sashenka,_  he thought.  _We’re home. Rest easy, now._


	2. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zavala arrives at the Traveler and immediately makes friends and enemies. He reflects on his first meeting with Sasha.

_First winter rain_

_I plod on;_

_Traveller, my name._

_**\- Basho** _

* * *

 

Zavala discovered that if there was one thing that hurt more than climbing a mountain in a blizzard, it was coming down the other side. The pressure on his knees and ankles was exhausting, and it was difficult not to slip on the snow. In his weaker moments, he considered just sitting down and trying to slide down into the village on his backside. It would have been faster.

By the time he reached the the bottom, he was visibly limping and leaning  heavily on his spear for support. Izanami, by contrast, seemed energised. She darted back and forth around Zavala’s shoulders, chirping excitedly.

[Look how many Light Bearers there are!] She squealed over the neural link. [Look at all the Ghosts!]

[Mm-hmm] he responded, noncommittally. He headed for the centre of the settlement, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He was far more interested in reaching the fire he could see ahead of him than making friends. When he finally reached the open-air hearth he sank down on to a free seat. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, wincing as feeling returned to his joints.

“Where’d you get that spear?”

Zavala reluctantly turned from the warmth of the fire to regard the person who had spoken to him; A burly man dressed in patchwork armour and a ragged cloak, a ghost floating at his shoulder. Zavala was tired, he was in pain, his ghost hadn’t had a chance to heal him yet. Zavala wasn’t in the mood for this sort of rudeness. A ‘hello’ would have been nice.

“Fallen.” The word seemed strange coming from him, his tongue felt too big in his mouth. It had been so long since he had spoken to someone other than his Ghost.

“I can see that,” the other man replied. “I mean did you fight one for it, or did you just find it?”

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s a good weapon, those shock blades are hard to come by. The best weapons should go to the best fighters, that’s how things work here.”

Zavala rose from his seat by the fire. The other man was taller than him by a good half-head but Zavala wasn’t intimidated. He’d fought far worse than him during the long trek to the Traveler. “And you’re one of the best fighters, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“You only just got here, you haven’t had training.”

“You have no idea what this spear has helped see me through. It’s mine. I’m not giving it up.” He turned back towards the fire, “Now, if you don’t mind? I’m very tired.”

“I do mind.” The man stepped forward and made a grab for the spear. Zavala reacted instantly, spinning on the ball of one foot in order to bring the bottom of the spear around to the back of his assailant. He then struck him hard on the back of his ankles, before pushing forward and up, sweeping the would-be thief’s feet out from under him. The man landed heavily on his back, while Zavala pointed the butt of the spear at his sternum.

Zavala heard laughter and slow, sarcastic applause coming from his left. “Oh Iakin, when are you going to learn? Just because someone is shorter than you, that doesn’t mean you can take them.” The new speaker shambled over and Zavala double-took at his appearance. If the man he had just flattened was big, this new speaker was enormous. He wore armour, crudely painted in orange and white, topped off by a horned helmet. The horned man leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. “You need to get your balance sorted out, Iakin.”

“Piss off, Shaxx,” Hissed Iakin.

“I’m not the one lying on my back with a spear pointed at me. You piss off. Go on.” This Shaxx person nodded to Zavala to step back. “Let him up.”

Iakin scrambled to his feet and stalked away.

“You’ve got slush stuck to your arse, Iakin,” Shaxx called after him. “You’re welcome.” Shaxx turned to Zavala and held out his fist. “Nicely done!”

Zavala stared at Shaxx’s extended fist for a couple of awkward seconds, unsure if he was supposed to do something. Shaxx gently took Zavala’s wrist and lifted it up, then bumped his fist against Zavala’s.

Understanding flashed across Zavala’s face. “Ah. Sorry. I’ve been on my own a long time.”

“That’s okay. You got a name?” “Zavala.” He looked back at the retreating Iakin with an expression of distaste. “Are they all like him here?”

“Nah. He’s all ego, that one. Light-drunk. He thinks he’s hot shit in a champagne glass but he’s just tepid crap in a cup. What you did was the best way to deal with him.” Shaxx started chuckling again. “You probably didn’t see the look on his face, you were too busy. Beautiful.”

Zavala’s lips twitched into a small, lopsided smile . “I’ve had some practice.”

“Were you alone all the way here here?”

Zavala looked at his feet and responded with a mumbled, “Not all the way.”

* * *

_Zavala wakes before his Ghost has a chance to rouse him. Their shelter that night had been a hollow beneath the roots of a gnarled, long dead tree. The landscape is still bleak but at least sand has given way to grass and the occasional (very occasional) tree, which is an improvement. He isn’t sure why that is an improvement, he has no memory of having seen plants before, he just knows it is. He mentally runs through the list he goes through every morning._

_‘Here’s what I know: I was dead, now I’m alive. I died in a crash. I’m an Awoken. My name is Zavala. I don’t think that was always my name but it’s the name I have now. My Ghost is called Izanami. If I die again, I can come back but only if I protect my Ghost. Dying hurts. We follow the Light to find the Traveler.’_

_He pushes himself into a sitting position, stretching and working out the kinks in his muscles. [Ready?] His Ghost asks in his mind. [We’ve got a long way to go today.] They always have a long way to go. He gets to his feet and picks up a spear which serves as his one and only weapon, then begins walking, forcing his tired legs to stretch themselves back into usefulness. As they travel, he scans the horizon, looking out for Fallen or possibly bandits. Izanami assures him that human bandits are a menace on the road to the Traveler but they haven’t seen any yet, Fallen are the main problem so far. Zavala would like to avoid them if at all possible. Zavala is alone and Fallen always travel in groups, so dying would be inevitable. Dying hurts._

_[Wait!] Izanami sounds nervous. [I’m picking up…wait here. Don’t move. I mean it, not a muscle.] She materialises and floats ahead, sending out beams of light. Zavala wonders what has her rattled, she doesn’t normally come out unless she absolutely has to. During their first few days together, she was at pains to tell him how perilous the Road was for a lone Light Bearer. ‘Better that no one knows what you really are,’ she’d said. ‘Warlords will try to recruit you, humans will be afraid of you and humans have a nasty habit of trying to kill things they’re afraid of. No. We keep our heads down until we reach the Traveler.’_

_Zavala wasn’t sure why things would be better at the Traveler. The pull he felt towards it was undeniable but he couldn’t put the ‘Traveler means safety’ on the list of things he knows. He doesn’t know that, not for certain. It’s a guess, a hunch. He goes along with it because what else is there? He has no desire to join with one of these Warlords Izanami has told him about. ‘Head for the Traveler,’ gives him some sense of purpose at least._

_Izanami finally turns and zooms back towards him and dematerialises again. [Shit.]_

_[What’s wrong?]_

_[This area is mined. Quite extensively.]_

_Zavala peers at the ground ahead of him, looking for any sign of the trap Izanami had just described. [Is it the Fallen? Can we go around?]_

_[I don’t know. I’m not sure how far it extends. Shit!]_

_[All right, calm down, we just need to -] Zavala’s train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a Fallen skiff entering the atmosphere. “Shit.” He casts around for an escape route, there’s little to no cover here and he’d really rather not die today. [Which way?]_

_[Just run, we’ll figure out a way around later.]_

_Zavala turns on his heel and runs back in the direction they just came. It doesn’t take long before he hears the sound of a transmat and then pikes coming towards him. He risks a glance over his shoulder and sure enough, there are three dregs riding pikes bearing down on him._

_[I’m getting a gun this time, Izanami. I don’t care how many times I have to die for it, I’m getting a damn gun!] He begins zig-zagging across the ground in an attempt to avoid any incoming fire._

_[Just keep running, we’ll find-] There’s a sudden explosion behind them and Zavala finds himself thrown forward. He lands heavily and looks behind to see what happened. One of the pikes has exploded, leaving a flaming chassis and pieces of shrapnel behind._

_[Guess the Fallen didn’t put the mines there then?] Zavala scrambles back to his feet and resumes running. He clambers up a nearby hill, hoping he’ll be able to take some cover from any Fallen potshots. The Fallen are screaming and yelling in a language he doesn’t recognise. He wonders if they blame him for the mines, they sound furious. He carries on fleeing when his stride is suddenly interrupted by something grabbing his ankle. He falls flat on his face. He looks down to see a hand extending from what looks like a patch of grass. The grass patch raises its head to reveal a masked face which hisses at him angrily._

_“Stay behind me and keep your head down.” It’s only then that Zavala notices the sniper rifle propped up on a bi-pod. He’s literally tripped over a camouflaged sniper wearing a ghillie suit with real vegetation sewn into it. “Thanks for leading them right to me, dumbass. Stay back, stay low.”  Zavala crawls to a spot that he hopes is unobtrusive enough. A shot rings out  and one of the Dregs falls from its pike. A group of vandals begin advancing and the sniper fires again and again in quick succession but not hitting any of the targets._

_[They keep missing!] Izanami complains silently over the neural link. [They do know that rifle has a scope on it, right?]_

_Zavala studies the direction the sniper is firing and how the Fallen try to evade. [They’re doing it on purpose. They’re herding them towards the-] There’s another explosion and various Fallen body parts rain down from the sky. [-mines.] There’s more angry yelling and gesticulating but the remaining Fallen retreat and eventually transmat away back to their ship._

_Zavala turns to the sniper to thank them but finds himself pinned when they suddenly spring over to him, straddle his chest and hold a knife to his neck._

_“What are you doing all the way out here by yourself?”_

_“I could ask you the same thing.” Zavala replies, keeping as still as possible._

_“I’m a ranger. I range. The clue’s in the name.” Zavala thinks the voice, though heavily filtered through the facemask, sounds feminine. “You’re no ranger. What are you doing out here?”_

_[Think, Zavala,] entreats Izanami._

_[I’m thinking.]_

_[Think faster.]_

_“Are you a scout? Did Fulgrim send you?” She presses the knife harder. “Answer me!”_

_“I don’t know who that is!” He takes a breath before speaking again, “I…I was traveling with some people. We got separated.” He winces. It’s not a lie, not technically. There were other bodies, long dead, on the ship Izanami found him in and there were sure to be other passengers who had survived the crash. He just doesn’t mention that it was his first death that had separated them._

_“I haven’t seen anyone else out here.”_

_“I’ve been alone a long time. I promise you I’m not a scout. I don’t work for anyone. In fact, I could use some help.”_

_His assailant relaxes a little before taking back the knife and sheathing the knife. “Okay. To be fair, if you’re a scout, you’re a pretty shitty one. No offence.”_

_“None taken.” Zavala shrugs. “Can I get up now?”_

_“I’ll take you back to the Ranger Station. We’ll figure out what to do with you there but I swear, if it turns out you work for that Warlord, I won’t even waste a bullet on you. I’ll open your throat. I can do it.”_

_“I believe you.” Zavala can’t resist smiling._

_“Something funny to you?”_

_“I’m sorry,” he says, looking her up and down in that grass suit she’s wearing. “I’ve never been threatened with murder by an angry shrub before. It’s a new experience for me.”_

_She snorts and stands up, offering Zavala a hand up. “What’s your name?”_

_“Zavala.”_

_“Zavala who?” She removes her helmet._

_He finds himself staring, taking in every detail of her face; the broad nose sprinkled with freckles, the epicanthal folds around her large brown eyes, the jet black hair secure in a coiled braid at the nape of her neck. It suddenly dawns on him that this is the first human face he’s seen since being resurrected._

_“Uh,” he stammers. “Just Zavala.”_

_“I’m Alexandra Ivanova. All right, Just Zavala, stay close, don’t wander off.” She taps an ear piece and begins speaking with someone on the comm. “Yeah. Yeah it’s me. They tried, they failed. Five kills, the rest retreated. They’ll try again, they’re getting bolder.” She glances back at Zavala. “And I picked up a stray.”_


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zavala's abilities at his first training session with the other Risen raise some eyebrows and Zavala recalls his less than ideal first day at the Baikal Ranger station.

“The moon’s good”: They kick off their hakama for wrestling

**\- Hokushi.**

* * *

“You’re going to die, you know.”

Zavala looked up at Shaxx quizzically, wondering how he could say something so ghoulish in such a casual tone of voice. They were on their way to combat training, Zavala’s first session. Shaxx was clearly an old hand, or at least he acted like one. Zavala couldn’t tell if he was trying to prepare him or if he was winding him up.

“Sorry but it’s true, you’re going to die today. More than once.” Zavala stopped in his tracks and kept staring at him. “You’ll get used to it. It’s all part of the experience.”

“Uh. Thanks for the heads up?” Zavala resumed walking and they carried on towards the sparring grounds on the outskirts of the settlement. “It’s fine. I’ve died before. Plenty of times.”

“In quick succession?”

“No can’t say it’s ever been more than once in twenty-four hours.”

“Get ready for more than once in twenty minutes.” They came to a halt with the other Risen from the settlement, who were gathered in a circle, waiting for the instructors to make themselves known. Shaxx leaned down and whispered, “People tend to be harsh with the new arrivals. Be prepared for that. You can team up with me if you like.”

“Would you go easy on me?”

“No.”

Zavala chuckled, then fell silent as an instructor entered the circle, and began to speak, projecting his voice across the field. “All right, pair up. Hand to hand combat today, Light abilities are not only allowed they are encouraged. Show us what you’ve got. Best of three, get to it!”

Zavala turned to Shaxx and asked, “Best of three?”

“Deaths,” Shaxx answered bluntly.

“Ah.” Zavala nodded. Shaxx wasn’t kidding about how many times he might die today. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. “Okay, so are we-”

“New guy!” Shaxx and Zavala turned to see Iakin glaring in Zavala’s direction. “With me.”

“He wants a rematch?” Zavala muttered.

While Shaxx shook his head slowly, Zavala suspected he was rolling his eyes behind that helmet. “Kick the little twerp’s arse. I’ll see you after.” He turned to the rest of the assembly and pounded a fist into his open palm. “Okay, who’s with me? Come on, step up. Anyone?” The other Risen avoided making eye contact and steadily drifted away from him, as though he had plague. “Oh come on. Come on! Oh, you bunch of wusses.” He eventually managed to grab a retreating Risen by the collar. “Come here. Oh it’s okay, it’ll be over soon.”

Zavala trudged toward his opponent, taking note of the state of the ground as he did. The foot traffic in this area had turned most of the snow to a treacherously slippy, brown, slush.

“All right,” the instructor called out once the group had been paired off. “Ghosts to a safe distance please.”

Izanami shuddered and turned her optic to Zavala for reassurance. “It’s fine, Iz.” Zavala cupped her shell in the palm of his hand. “It’s just to avoid friendly fire, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like this,” she glanced around nervously.

“Go with the other ghosts. It’s just a precaution, I’ll see you soon.”

“Very soon,” said Iakin, a smirk fixed on his face. She spun her shell to face Iakin and contorted her top two spines into a sharp ‘v’ shape. After she floated away to the edge of the sparring ground, Iakin asked, “Why does your Ghost have separation anxiety?”

“I told you, we’ve been through a-” He was suddenly interrupted by Iakin’s fist smashing into his face. Zavala staggered backward, tasting blood at the back of his throat. He spluttered and gingerly covered his nose with his hand. His nose was broken for sure, that would be Izanami’s first job when they were reunited. He suddenly realised Iakin was coming for him again and blocked his punch with his forearm. Iakin kept advancing, swinging left and right while Zavala was forced backwards, still not having recovered from that first sucker-punch. He eventually slipped and fell. He both felt and heard the crack when his head hit a rock, then everything went dark.

* * *

_Alexandra had brought her bike to a halt at the crest of a hill overlooking a vast expanse of water, with a town nestled beside it. She chugs from a water flask before offering to Zavala who politely declines. He’s far too busy staring at the sight before him._

_“Is…is that the ocean?” He supposes it must be the ocean, the water extends as far as the eye can see. He’s never seen this much water, not since he was revived and then he was eager to get away from the shallow sea he had obviously died in. His heart beats faster as images of darkness and cold panic skirt at the edge of his memories._

_“Traveler help you, you really are lost, aren’t you?” She shakes her head, “No. We’re well inland here. That’s Lake Baikal. You’ll be staying at the Ranger Station there until we decide what to do with you.”_

_“What to do with me?” He wrenches his gaze away from the lake and frowns at his new-found…What is she to him? His guide? His protector? Or his captor perhaps?_

_Alexandra shrugs and screws the cap back on her flask. “You were out in the middle of nowhere, no weapons, no equipment. That’s unusual to say the least. The others will have questions about how you survived alone like that.”_

_Zavala drops his gaze to the floor, contemplating if he should just tell her the truth; that he didn’t survive, that he died over and over. What if his Ghost is being too cautious? This Ranger seems reasonable, terrifying when she has a knife in her hand but reasonable._

_The crackle of a radio, then the sound of a woman’s voice interrupts the ensuing silence. “Sasha? You coming home tonight? Your dinner’s getting cold.”_

_She grins and picks up the radio and replies, “Yes, I’m on my way. Just pop my dinner in the oven for me, I promise I won’t be up past my bedtime. Seriously though, just taking a little pit-stop then we’ll be down.”_

_“We? Ah, yes, your stray. How long?”_

_“About half an hour, so don’t shoot.”_

_“Oh come on.”_

_“I’ve seen how bad your aim is, Dolores, your eyesight’s terrible. Wouldn’t put it past you to mistake us for Dregs.”_

_“Have a care. Age comes not alone, child, it’ll happen to you too. See you soon”_

_She pockets the radio and gets back on the bike. “Come on, let’s go.” Zavala ambles over and rides pillion behind her._

_“Who was that? Another Ranger? How many of you are there?”_

_Alexandra pulls on her helmet and starts the ignition on the bike. “Not enough,” she sighs before setting off._

_When they arrive, they’re waved through a massive gate set into a protective outer wall. After parking the bike, Alexandra beckons for Zavala to follow her through what pass for streets in this conflagration of humanity. The town is a mixture of crumbling Golden Age buildings, huts, lean-tos and what looked like converted shipping containers piled on top of eachother. Zavala winces at his Awoken senses picking up on the sudden cacophony of minds crammed into this space. The noise gradually quiets as he erects mental defences, more from instinct than anything else, he has no memory of learning how to do this. The occasional pointed, curious thought from someone staring at him in cuts through. The people here are dressed for hardship; tattered furs, cracked leathers and worn boots. Zavala is keenly aware of how out of place his white flight suit looks here._

_He looks in the direction of the latest mental enquiry to breach his mental levees and sees that it’s Alexandra, staring at him intently. “You all right? You’re wincing.”_

_“I’m not used to this many people.”_

_“This an Awoken thing? I heard you people can sense things we can’t.” Zavala just nods, beginning to accept that he’ll most likely end up with a splitting headache before he gets used to this._

_“These people can’t all be headed for the Traveler?” He asks, looking around in amazement._

_“No. You get all sorts here. Pilgrims, merchants, descendants of people who tried to get to the Cosmodrome during the Collapse. The Road is dangerous but it’s relatively safe here so some Pilgrims abandon the idea and settle. There’s some unsavoury types too, so stay close.”  They turn a corner and come to a ramshackle mess-hall set up in a large tent. “Get something to eat, I need to go debrief, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She points at him as though he’s a naughty child liable to run off. “Stay here. I mean it, don’t wander.” She shepherds him to the back of the queue before telling a man in armour similar to hers to watch him._

_The line moves slowly and Zavala shuffles his way along, shoulders hunched and head down._

_[I think I preferred it when it was just us.] Izanami complains._

_[It’ll be fine, this is only temporary.] As he nears the head of the queue, the aroma from a massive pot of stew wafts towards him. He doesn’t recognise the smells, he just knows that they make his stomach clench and rumble. [Besides, it might be nice to rest properly. Hot meals. Sleep in a bed.]_

_[Zavala. Three o’clock.] Izanami says in a nervous, warning tone. [And nine o’clock and six…oh dear.] The others in the queue have stepped back while two men and one woman position themselves around Zavala. Their feet are planted far apart, their arms folded._

_Zavala glances between the three of them. “Can I help you?”_

_“You’re the guy Sasha brought in?” Asks the woman._

_“You mean Alexandra Ivanova? The Ranger? Yes.” Zavala unfolds his arms slowly, letting them drop to his sides. “Word travels fast, apparently.”_

_The three of them begin circling him and take turns firing questions at him, one after the other, “How long were you out there alone? Why don’t you have a weapon? How did you survive? Why are you dressed like that? You a pilot? Where’s your ship?”_

_Zavala does his best to keep an eye on each of them. His lips curls into a snarl, his annoyance overriding his sense of caution. “Do actually want me to answer these, or are you just trying to make a point?”_

_“Fulgrim sent you didn’t he? What is he after?”_

_“I’ll tell you what I told Alex- Sasha. Whatever. I don’t work for him. I’d never even heard of Fulgrim until today.”_

_“Liar!” One of the men yells. He’s stick-thin and wiry so Zavala is completely taken aback by his strength when he lands a punch in Zavala’s gut. He gasps and tries to back away, doubled-over._

_He wraps one protective arm around his stomach and holds his other hand out, palm-up, in an entreating gesture. “Please don’t.” With that, the three of them set upon him, punching, kicking, scratching. Zavala collapses to the floor and curls into a fetal position._

_[Fight back!] Izanami pleads._

_[I can’t.]_

_[Yes you can! You’ve fought off Vandals hand-to-hand, this is nothing!]_

_[I might kill them.] Zavala screws his eyes shut, fighting against the brewing anger inside him. He doesn’t want his Light to manifest, not now but each blow from his attackers cause that little spark of heat in his chest grow and grow and until his skin begins to prickle and he feels that tell-tale jolt of power in his fingertips. He screws his eyes shut, crosses his arms  and balls his fists against his chest. He’s just about to yell, to scream a warning to his assailants to get back when a gunshot sounds just a few feet away. Zavala forces his eyes open to see who fired._

_“What in the Traveler’s name are you doing?” Sasha is standing with a massive pistol aimed skywards, wearing a facial expression that’s one part incredulity, three parts murder.  She lowers her gun to point it in the direction of Zavala’s assailants. “Get back. All of you!” They shuffle backward, hands up. She holsters her gun and scowls in the direction of the armoured man toward the back of the mess. “What the hell, Goran? I told you to watch him.”_

_The man shrugs, leaning nonchalantly against one of the mess’ support beams. “I did watch.”_

_“They could have killed him!”_

_“I wouldn’t have let it get that far. You gotta admit, Sasha, it’s more than a little suss. You shouldn’t have brought him back here, you know he’s probably a scout.”_

_“You ever see a spy look as incongruous as him? Not much use as a spy, don’t you think?”_

_“Why take the risk?” One of the men who attacked speaks up. His gaze is still full of venom but he looks decidedly less confident than before. “Just chuck him back over the wall and be done with it.”_

_“He is my responsibility. If any of you touch him again, you can make your way to the Traveler by yourselves. How about we put you outside the wall with a couple days’ rations? You fancy traveling alone? During winter? Like the sound of that?_

_“You can’t make that decision, Sasha. You’re not in charge,” the ranger called Goran protests._

_“Dolores can. Want me to call her?” Sasha’s suggestion is met with grumbling and shuffling. “That’s what I thought. Get out of here, all of you.” She glares after them as they retreat and the other pilgrims gradually gather back around to queue for food again, giving Sasha and Zavala a wide berth. She kneels at his side to help him up. “Anything broken?”_

_“I don’t think so,” he says, wincing at a sharp pain in his chest as he gets to his feet._

_[I beg to differ,”] Izanami interjects across their Link. [Two of your ribs are broken. You’ll have some serious contusions too, if you don’t let me do something about them.]_

_“Come on,” Sasha takes him by the elbow and steers him away from the mess tent. “Let’s get you patched up.”_

_Zavala nods, taking as deep breaths as his aching ribs will allow, not permitting himself to relax until he’s sure his Light has abated._

_“Listen,” Sasha says as they walk side-by-side, “If anyone gets you on the ground like that again, kick at their legs. Strike with your heel, hard, and follow through. If you get the angle right, you might just break their shin or their knee.”_

_Zavala laughs softly and instantly regrets it as a fresh spike of pain lances through him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little scary?”_

_She smirks, not looking offended in the slightest. “I’m just practical.” She pats his arm. “Stick with me, you’ll be fine.”_

* * *

Zavala gasped as his lungs filled with air. He blinked furiously as the world came back into focus and he saw Izanami hovering over him.

[Get out of the way] he told her silently. Iakin was standing with his back to them, laughing uproariously, calling to someone across the field.

“Did you see that? He must have a skull like an eggshell!”

Zavala waited until his Ghost was safely away before silently maneuvering himself around. He drew one leg back and kicked out hard, feeling his heel crash into the side of Iakin’s knee. There was a sickening snap and Iakin immediately dropped to the ground with an agonised scream. Zavala sprang to his feet and grabbed the back of Iakin’s head, fisted his fingers in his hair, pulled his head back then smashed his knee into his face. He let go of his hair and let him fall backwards, lifeless, like a rag-doll.

“WHOO! Yeah, that’ll learn him!” Izanami hollered from the sidelines, spinning her shell in jubilation. She noticed Iakin’s ghost staring at her. “What?” The other Ghost dipped the points of its shell in what could almost be a sigh before floating over to revive their Risen.

“All right,” Iakin said, getting to his feet after his Ghost brought him back, “All right. I got cocky. I’ll give you that one.”

Zavala resisted the urge to reply with a sarcastic quip and instead concentrated on finding a strong stance and anticipating Iakin’s next gambit. He brought his arms up to a defensive position and kept still, waiting for Iakin to attack. He watched him pace back and forth, trying to goad him into making the first move but Zavala remained impassive, staring him down. Iakin eventually gave in to impatience and charged at him, swinging wildly with his fists. Zavala blocked as best he could until he feels the hairs on his arms rise and his skin erupt in gooseflesh; there’s arc energy nearby. He raised a void overshield in response.

Iakin backed off when he realised his blows were to no avail. “That overshield won’t last forever, you know. Are you going to land a punch or-”

Zavala took Iakin’s jibe as an opportunity to drop the shield and summed the arc aspect of his Light. He rushed him, turning to a bright, crackling blur as he rammed his shoulder into Iakin at full force. He vapourised mid-taunt and Zavala stepped back, allowing himself a small, satisfied smile.

“Best of three, right?” He said, turning to the other sparring couples for confirmation. They had all stopped and were staring at him. A few whispers broke out and Zavala’s smile vanished. He looked around uncertainly until he found Shaxx, also staring at him. “What?” He mouthed.

With that, Iakin’s Ghost revived him and he immediately started yelling in the instructor’s direction. “That doesn’t count! This isn’t fair, how was I supposed to know he could do that?”

Zavala scurried over to Shaxx. “Do what? What did I do? you said we were meant to die, best of three deaths, that’s what you said.”

Shaxx cocked his head. “Uh, you switched between void and arc Light as though it was nothing.”

“So?” Zavala shrugged, nonplussed. “Was I not supposed to? No one told me I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“It’s not that you’re not supposed to. It’s rare. Especially for a youngster.” He looked toward Iakin, still protesting the injustice of it all. “He wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh.” Zavala nodded. “Oh, I see. Am I supposed to pick one or the other?”

“Not for me to say.” He jutted his chin toward another Risen walking toward the sparring ground. “Better to ask him.” This newcomer was dressed in armour that put most of them to shame. Aside from the ornately inlaid helmet, there was a slightly ramshackle feel to it. The parts didn’t all exactly match, there were obvious dents and scuffs, and it was complemented by somewhat ragged-looking cloth accoutrements. The effect was all the more intimidating though, he was a clearly a man who was no stranger to battle.

“Do you think the Fallen care one whit for fairness?” He spoke in a low growl that somehow managed to cut right through Iakin’s histrionics. He fell silent, bowing his head in deference. “You think a gang of Vandals will back off if you cry ‘fair play?’ Do honestly believe a Captain won’t use your bones as a boundary marker because you invoke rules of engagement?”

“No, my Lord.” Iakin mumbled in response.

“What have you learned?”

Iakin shot a surly glare in Zavala’s direction before responding, “Don’t underestimate your opponent.”

“And?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

“Good.” He nodded once before turning away. He stopped in front of Shaxx who nodded respectfully.

“Lord Saladin.”

“Shaxx. Vicious as ever.” A note of amusement had crept into that gravelly voice.

“Thank you m’lord.”

“And I see you’ve made friend. Good for you.” He turned to look at Zavala. “This one might give you a run for your money.”

“I hope so,” Shaxx said, giving Zavala a playful punch to the shoulder. “I was getting bored.”

“I won’t be here for the next couple of weeks at least, a matter in Old Russia requires our attention.” He glanced at Zavala, then back at Shaxx. “Keep an eye on this one for me. He’s got potential.”

“Will do. Is…” Shaxx hesitated. “Is Lady Efrideet going with you?”

Saladin snorted and turned to leave the sparring ground. He called back over his shoulder, “I’ll give her your regards.”

Zavala waited until Saladin was out of earshot before grabbing Shaxx’s arm. “ _Lord_  Saladin?” He whispered urgently. “As in  _war_  Lord?”

“No! No fear.” Shaxx assured him. “Iron Lord. They’re the ones who put Warlords down.”

“Oh,” Zavala visibly relaxed. “I don’t like Warlords.”

Shaxx looked at him askance. “You’ve had run-ins with Warlords? Zavala you’ve got stories to tell, why don’t you talk more?”

He gave a lopsided shrug and stammered, “I uh, I heard things. Never good things.” He took a deep breath and decided to change the subject. “So who’s Efrideet?”

“Ah,” Shaxx put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out. “Lady Efrideet.” He drew out the second syllable of ‘Lady’ in a happy sigh. “I  _like_  Lady Efrideet.” He clapped an arm around Zavala’s shoulder and walked him back towards the camp. “Let me tell you about Lady Efrideet…” 


	4. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zavala learns a little more about why people are so suspicious of Light bearers, is plagued by dreams which may or may not be prophetic, while his ghost worries incessantly.

You the butterfly -  
I, Chuang Tzu’s  
dreaming heart.

               - **Matsuo Bashō**

_ “Ow!” Zavala jerks his head back, sucking a short, sharp breath through his teeth. Normally, his Ghost would have healed him by now but this is not a normal situation. He’s accustomed to pain, just not hands-on medical care.  _

_ “Bear it, weakling.” Alexandra smirks down at him before she resumes dabbing at a cut on his forehead. Zavala supposes that whatever is on the pad she’s using is some sort of disinfectant but the way it stings and burns makes it feel like liquid torture.  _

_ He looks around the room to distract himself, from both the pain and from the fact that the first human he’s laid eyes on since being rezzed has her face inches from his own.  The room can only be described as functional. In terms of furniture, there’s the bed which he’s seated on, a plain wardrobe and a couple of battered-looking easy chairs. The back half of the room houses what seems to double as a work space and kitchen area. A tiny-plug in cooker sits on top of a work-bench beside scattered tools and what are most likely gun parts and empty rounds. The only decorative pieces he can see are a small statue of a seated, robed man and what looks like a two-stringed musical instrument, with a headstock carved into the shape of a horse’s head. He lets his eyes rest anywhere except on her while he keeps as still as possible. As gentle as her touch is, there’s every possibility she might pull a knife on him again if he’s a bad patient. _

_ “You live here?” He asks, still casting his gaze around the spartan abode. _

_ “No,” she replies. “I live on The Road, this is just where I keep my stuff.” She smiles down at him as she sets about closing his wound with butterfly bandages. _

_ “Ah. I see.” He doesn’t really see it. If he stopped to think about it, he wouldn’t understand why anyone would trade the comfort of a home for the danger of The Road. As it is, he’s decided now is the time to look back up at her and he’s not thinking about much except how different she looks when she smiles.  _

_ [Zavala? Are you all right?] Izanami intrudes over their neural link. A tiny frown clouds his decidedly battered and bruised features. What an odd question. He’s been beaten up, one eye is swelling shut, it hurts to breathe, he’s fairly sure his nose is broken and he can’t ask his Ghost to heal him. Not yet, anyway. Of course he’s not all right.  _

_ [Why are you asking me that?] _

_ [You’re tachycardic!] She exclaims, sending ripples of worry through the link. [Your heart rate is pushing one-ninety, is something wrong? Is it your injuries, did I miss something? I should heal you.] _

_ [No.] Zavala replies. [You want us to keep a low profile, how do you think she’ll react if you suddenly pop out and start beaming Light at me? Relax. I’m fine.] _

_ [Then why are you-] Izanami pauses as Alexandra frames Zavala’s face with her hands and tips his head up towards her.  _

_ “Look at me.” She rests her thumbs on his cheekbones, gently stroking either side of his nose and gazing intently at him. He obliges, his frown instantly dissolving. He avoids her eyes and finds himself staring at her nose. The freckles he noticed when they first met catch his attention. He decides he likes freckles.  _

_ [Now you’ve stopped breathing! There’s definitely something not ri-] There’s a sudden, stony silence across their neural link. [Oh. All right. I see what’s happening here. Never mind.] _

_ Alexandra removes her hands and straightens up before Zavala can respond. “I think your nose is broken.” She crosses over to the kitchen area and retrieves an ice pack from a small fridge. She places it in his hand and guides it to his nose. “Keep an eye on it. You might need to get to the infirmary and have it reset.” _

_ “That won’t be necessary, I’ll be fine.” _

_ “Okay,” she shrugs. “If you’re fine with long term breathing problems and your nose healing all crooked.” She flops down into one of the chairs, sending up a small cloud of dust and causing the springs to creak. She clearly wasn’t kidding about not spending much time here. “Why didn’t you fight back? That long on The Road, you must be able to handle yourself.” _

_ I tend to favour running away. I’m good at that. Usually.” _

_ Alexandra laughs. “That’s as good a survival strategy as any, I guess. So where did you get the spear? That’s a Fallen blade, you didn’t get that by running away.” _

_ “I scavenged it.” He omits the part where he scavenged it from the body of a vandal he’d despatched minutes before. Alexandra doesn’t reply to this. She merely stares back as if studying him. “Is this an interrogation?” _

_ “The others,” she hesitates no doubt searching for a tactful way to say ‘they don’t want you here.’ “The others are sceptical. The Road is a dangerous place, you’d have to be stupendously lucky to survive out there alone, for any length of time. Lucky or…” her lips twitch in amusement. “Extremely good at running away.” _

_ “Well, can I ask you something?” He winces as he shifts the ice pack. “Who is Fulgrim and why do people keep asking me if I work for him?”  _

_ “Ah, well.” All traces of amusement desert Alexandra when she hears that name. “That’s  Lord Fulgrim, to the likes of us. He’s a Warlord, he has territory not far from here. We’ve had the odd skirmish with his people but he hasn’t tried to take the town. Not yet, anyway. He’s ruthless. He’ll give protection in exchange for tribute but if people won’t pay…” She trails off, staring at nothing in particular. She shakes her head and comes to. “He’s a Lightbearer, do you know what that means?” _

_ “I’ve heard the term.” His voice is even but his blood has run as cold as the bag of ice in his hand.  _

_“They have abilities. Powers, like something out of an old comic book. And you can’t kill them. They have these little drones that follow them around, they bring them back to life somehow.”  She regards him seriously. “Take my advice. You see someone with one of those drones floating beside them? You do that running away thing you told me about.” She gets to her feet with a sigh. “Anyway. I need to go, I’m on watch soon. You can sleep here tonight, I won’t be back til morning.”_

_ “I don’t want to impose.”  _

_ “You’re not. Make yourself at home, there’s food in the fridge, bathroom’s through that door. I’d give you the tour but that’s pretty much it. Only one rule: Don’t touch my morin khuur or the Buddha.”  _

_ Zavala stands, removes the ice pack from his face and casts a puzzled, uncertain look around the room. “The what?” _

_ Alexandra purses her lips to suppress a smile. “You are so far from home, aren’t you? Don’t touch that,” she points to the horse-head stringed instrument, then the statuette sitting on the shelf, “Or that.” _

_ “Ah. I won’t.” He bobs his head, something between a bow and respectful nod, unsure of the etiquette for a situation like this. “Thank you Alexandra Ivanova. You’ve been very kind.” _

_ “Don’t be so formal. Call me Sasha. And don’t worry about it. It’s my job.” _

_ “Even so. I’m grateful.” _

_ She nods back to him in response before opening the door to leave. “Sleep well, Just Zavala.”  _

_ He shuts the door after her and listens closely for the sound of her footsteps receding into the distance. “Okay, come out.” _

_ Izanami immediately coalesces beside him. “I thought she’d never leave!” She projects a cone of Light towards Zavala’s chest and he sighs in relief. “That’s your ribs intact again. Better?” _

_ He takes another deep breath and exhales slowly. “So much better.” He puts up a hand to shield his face when she starts healing the bruises there. “What are you doing? How obvious did you want to make this?” _

_ She stares back at him with as much incredulity as a floating drone can muster. “Zavala. We’re not staying. We have to to go!”  _

_ Zavala closes his eyes and sighs, visibly deflating. “Iz, I am tired. I am so tired. Let me rest.” _

_ “Did you hear what she said? And the way she said it? She hates Lightbearers. She practically spat the word out. If she finds out what you are I…” Her shell gives a little shudder. “I don’t want to think about what she might do. We can’t stay here.” _

_ “Just a couple of days.” He kicks off his boots and eases himself down on the bed. “Give me two night’s decent sleep and we’ll move on? Deal?” _

_ Izanami turns her shell this way and that. “Fine,” she eventually forces the word out. “So long as it’s temporary. At least let me deal with some of the deep tissue damage. Let me take the swelling down, just a little bit?” _

_ “Okay.” He settles down on top of the blankets and groans in contentment despite the throbbing pain in his head. So this is what sleeping in a bed feels like, he thinks as his eyes fall shut. _

_ Izanami shoots small, hesitant beams of Light towards him. “She was right. Your nose is broken. Want me to fix it? Zavala?” He doesn’t respond, having fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. “I’ll fix it,” she whispers. “Sweet dreams.” _

~*~

_ She’s sitting in the corner of a darkened room. Her face is obscured, her head bowed. So much about her is different; her hair is shorter, she wears strange armour bearing sigils he doesn’t recognise but he knows it’s her. Somehow he knows. There's a large pistol decorated in black and white in her hands. She cradles it with tender reverence. When she eventually raises her head to look at him, she does so slowly, as though it’s a burden too heavy for her to carry. She looks at him with tear-filled eyes and when she speaks, her voice is quiet and strained. _

_ “I’m sorry, Luchik.” _

_ ~*~ _

Zavala woke with a start, barely suppressing the urge to call her name. He sat up and looked around frantically until he remembered where he was. It was pitch black but his keen Awoken eyes could make out the sleeping form of Shaxx on a pallet on the other side of their shared yurt. He lay back down on his own bed and stared into the darkness, contemplating the dream that had so rudely shaken him awake. Of all his recurring dreams about Sasha, this was a common one but its frequency did not help him understand it any more. 

_ What’s wrong, Sashenka? What are you trying to tell me? _

There were no answers forthcoming in the night’s silence. He had been so sure the dreams would stop once he reached the Traveler. That was their goal, they had been determined that at least one of them would make it. He did. He thought she’d be at peace after that. Clearly, he was wrong. 

He rose from his pallet, having no desire to go back to sleep. He dressed as quietly as he could then picked up his spear and opened the door to the hut. Shaxx snorted and stirred as he did so.

“Mmph? Effie? Where’re y’goin?” 

Zavala can’t help but smile at that. “Efrideet’s not here, Shaxx. Go back to sleep.” It was good of his new friend to put him up the way he had, but Zavala was eager to get his own space. These disruptive, sleepless nights weren’t fair on Shaxx. As much as Shaxx's energy seemed boundless, he needed his rest. Zavala headed toward the centre of the settlement to the fire that always burned brightly, no matter the hour. He sat down, fished out a whetstone from a pouch in his belt and set to sharpening the blade of his spear. He carried on with the repetitive, meditative movements when he sensed, rather than heard his Ghost approach. 

 “I don’t think that spear can get much sharper.” Izanami hovered just behind his shoulder. “There’ll be nothing left of it.” 

“It’s soothing.” 

“Can’t sleep?” He shook his head. “Bad dream?” His only response was to draw the whetstone across the blade once more. “You can talk to me, you know.”

The Ghost’s assurance was met with silence. He rose to trudge over to the nearby wood pile. Sparks, like tiny amber stars, scattered into the surrounding darkness as he threw extra logs onto the fire. Once he was satisfied the fire was sufficiently stoked, flopped back down into his seat and resumed honing the spear resting in his lap. A not entirely comfortable silence ensued. The fire spat and crackled, the blade sang with each stroke of the whetstone and Izanami’s shell whirred softly as she considered what to say next. 

“I miss her too, Zavala.”

He abruptly ceased his ministrations and looked up at his Ghost for the first time since she’d approached him. “Really?” He asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “You two didn’t always see eye to eye.”

“We agreed on some things; She loved you.”

She could tell she’d touched a nerve with that comment. A tense muscle worked in his jaw, his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down his emotions, then there was his smile. It was barely discernible and it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes but Izanami knew it was there. He held his hand out, palm up and beckoned. She sped over to him, straight past the proffered hand and nuzzled in between his neck and shoulder. Zavala gave a sad chuckle, musing on how his scarf served a dual purpose; protection from both cold and the shell points of an affectionate Ghost. 

“I’m alright, Iz,” he whispered, covering her shell with his hand.

“No you’re not.” Her shell pressed into his scarf, muffling her voice. “You haven’t let yourself grieve, not properly. We were so focussed on getting here, you didn’t have much time to think about anything else. You have time now.”

His Ghost had a point, he had to admit. As keenly as he'd felt the loss of Sasha, those feelings had necessarily taken a backseat to the daily drudgeries of their pilgrimage: On your feet. Keep going. Don’t give up. Be brave. 

“I just…” he tailed off, experiencing a flare up of what he’d come to think of as stealth grief. He understood the agony of the initial loss. There was an honesty about it, he was supposed to suffer, he could accept that.  _ Bear it, weakling _ , he’d told himself. And he did. What he resented in the weeks that followed was how the pain would wait to ambush him without warning. He’d been lied to, grief didn’t go through stages, it came in waves, as relentless as the tide. Anything could remind him of her and set him off. A scent. A piece of music. An anecdote that he wanted to tell her. The thought of life plans altered or abandoned completely. And the worst: Those damn dreams of things that had never happened and never would. It was underhand. It was sneaky. It wasn’t fair. 

“I just thought we’d have more time,” he said, in his second attempt at explaining his feelings. “I saw a future so clearly. I didn’t think I’d be doing this alone.”

[You’ll never be alone.] Izanami switched to the neural link to emphasise her point. [I’m here.] She floated back a little, extricating herself from the perfunctory embrace. [Try getting back to sleep?]

Zavala shook his head. “There’s little point, the sun will be up soon. Besides, I’m not tired.” That was a lie. He was worn out but he wouldn’t tell his perpetually worried Ghost the truth: If he didn’t sleep, he wouldn’t dream.


	5. The Warlord and the Stable Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zavala settles into his new home despite being socially awkward as heck. Saladin wishes Shaxx would stop talking. Jolder is enchanting. Efrideet drops a clanger! Shaxx discovers what it takes to make Zavala angry.

Autumn’s end –  
how does my  
neighbour live?  
  
-  **Matsuo Bashō**

_“You’ll get used to the smell.” The old ranger’s face creases as she smirks in Zavala’s direction. Delores, Sasha had called her. She doesn’t look like a Delores, at least, not what Zavala imagines a Delores would typically look like. It’s a delicate-sounding name, yet the woman standing before him is decidedly indelicate.  She wets yellow-stained fingers and pats down the skin of a roughly rolled cigarette. “Everyone has to pull their weight here. Everyone pitches in and the stables need mucking out. The upside of horses and camels is that they’re more reliable than vehicles in the cold.” She lights her cigarette and takes a long drag. “Downside is they shit a whole lot.”_

_“I’m not sure - ugh…” There’s a sudden waft of ammonia and Zavala’s eyes prickle and film over with tears. “I’m not sure this is the best use of my time.”_

_“What would be a better use of your time? What can you do?”_

_Zavala considers his answer in awkward silence. I can summon electricity with my hands? I can come back from the dead? No, that wouldn’t do at all._

_“Is it beneath you?” Delores asks, her rheumy eyes staring right through him._

_“No but -”_

_She places a shovel in his hands and pats his arm. “This shouldn’t take you long, strapping lad like you.” She gives a rasping chuckle and winks at him but the expression on her weather-beaten face softens when she sees how sceptical he looks. “You’ll be happy for the physical labour once the cold really starts to bite - The animals generate heat too. You’ll much rather be in here than up on one of the watch-towers once the snows come, believe me.”_

_“How long does winter last?” Sasha, Delores and the other rangers had made it quite clear that travel during winter was out of the question._

_“Six months.” She stubs her cigarette out on the stable wall and tucks the remainder behind her ear. “I know,” she notes the sag in his shoulders. “You want to get moving. You want to get to where you want to be, you don’t want to spend half the year shoveling shit. But take it from me, you don’t want to be out there when it’s forty degrees below freezing. You won’t get far.”_

_Zavala acknowledges this with a glum nod before hefting the shovel and entering the stable. “I’d best start getting used to the smell.”_

* * *

It had become something of a tradition for a group of the Lightbearers to gather at a fire near Shaxx’s hut for their evening repast. They would sit, nursing aching bones and tired muscles and eat together, swapping stories and boasts. The members of the group would change over time but Shaxx was a constant, having a seemingly endless supply of stories to tell. Zavala tended to hover at the edge of the gathering, he didn’t speak often. He preferred to listen. That night, there were two new additions to the circle. A contingent of Iron Lords had stopped off on the way back to their base at Felwinter Peak. Shaxx enthusiastically recounted a story about the oft-mentioned Lady Efrideet, who sat beside him by the fire, grinning all the while.

“So, Efrideet lifted Saladin,” a pause for emphasis, “over her head!”

“I’m fairly sure everyone from here to the Rusted Waste has heard this story by now, Shaxx” Lord Saladin grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“Oh, I never get tired of hearing this one.” the woman beside Saladin jostled him then laid a comforting hand on his knee. Zavala noted how Saladin’s expression eased from a scowl to a mere deep frown at her touch. Lady Jolder. She had immediately made a beeline for the training grounds after arriving to volunteer in one of Saladin’s demonstrations. Armed with nothing but a sword and shield she had deftly taken down four gun-wielding trainees. Zavala had been impressed when she had slammed her shield into his face. It was a good lesson. There was clearly more to combat than superior weaponry.

Jolder fixed Zavala with a brilliant smile. “He’s new, right? He hasn’t heard it? Has he heard it, Saladin?”

Saladin glowered in Zavala’s direction. Zavala tipped his head to one side in a noncommittal gesture, “My lady, I may have heard snatches, here and there. Enough to piece the story together.”

“Very diplomatic. Oh, I like him,” Jolder turned back to Saladin. “I’m glad you picked him out. So polite.”

“He knows when to hold his tongue, I’ll give him that,” replied Saladin, with a pointed look in Shaxx’s direction.

“So anyway,” Shaxx resumed, “Efrideet had Saladin over her head -”

Saladin snorted, “And she threw me like a javelin into the Fallen walker, combined arc energies, and so on, dead walker, laughing ghosts, end scene.”

Shaxx stared back in silence. “You just don’t know how to tell a story, do you, Lord Saladin?”

Efrideet laughed and patted his hand. “Don’t be a sore loser, you-.” She coughed and spluttered when the wind changed direction and blew a cloud of smoke in her face. “Can’t wait ‘til you sort out some proper buildings in this place. Felwinter Peak is cold but at least it has chimneys.”

“We should get some camels,” Zavala interjected, oblivious to the quizzical looks prompted by this statement. “Camel dung is good burning fuel; dry, no odour, burns smokeless.” There was silence and befuddled looks all around the gathering. Zavala looked up and paused to swallow a mouthful of stew before speaking again. “What?”

“I did not know that, Zavala,” said Saladin, the tiniest tremble of amusement creeping into his usual deadpan growl. “Thank you for sharing.”

“How do you know so much about camel dung?” Asked Shaxx, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “I’ve been trying to drag a tale out of this one for weeks on end now, I know he’s got one. So let’s have it”

“I worked in a stables once.”

Shaxx huffed and sat up. “That’s not a story. Come on. How does a Risen end up mucking out camel shit?”

“I was helping some people out.”

Shaxx was about to protest more when Jolder’s musical lilt cut him off. “Leave him be, Shaxx. Perhaps he’s shy. Besides. Why shouldn’t a Risen muck out a stable? It’s honest work, it’s necessary. There’s nobility in that.”

“You’re the storyteller here, Lord Shaxx,” Efrideet piped up. “Be proud.”

Zavala snapped his gaze toward Shaxx. “ _Lord_  Shaxx?” The only sounds that followed were the crackling of the fire. “Lord Shaxx?” He repeats. “Did you become an Iron Lord while I wasn’t looking?”

Efrideet continued brightly, apparently unaware of the tension in the air, “Oh, no. Shaxx was a Warlord but his ego wouldn’t let him give up the title.”

“I see.” Zavala put his bowl of stew, half-consumed, back down on the ground. “Excuse me.” He stomped away from the fire, no clear end-point in sight, just so long as he wasn’t anywhere near a Warlord.

“Did I say something wrong?” Asked Efrideet, after Zavala’s heavy footfalls had died away.

“Excuse me,” Shaxx rose to his feet and left to follow Zavala’s tracks, eventually finding him on the edge of the settlement.

Zavala glared over his shoulder when he heard Shaxx approach. “For someone who says he loves stories, it’s odd you never mentioned  _that_  little biographical snippet.”

“I’ve got lots of them. I hadn’t got around to telling that one yet.” Shaxx circled around to face him. “Something wrong?”

“You were a warlord?”

“Still am.”

“So what are you doing here?” Zavala hissed through gritted teeth.

“Training. Fighting. Same as you.”

“We are  _not_  the same! I came here to help humanity, you-

“Oh yes, please enlighten me, what is it Warlords do exactly? You’re an expert, apparently.”

Zavala closed the distance between them, face inches from that ridiculous helmet. “Warlord is just a fancy word for murderer. Tyrant.”

“Well I hate to tell you this, but you’ve been breaking bread with an awful lot of murderers then.” He threw his arm out in an expansive, violent gesture. “We were all Warlords! It was dog eat dog out there. We did what we had to do to survive.”

“And how did you do that? By burning villages? Murdering people who wouldn’t bend the knee?”

Shaxx put his hands in his hips and drew himself up to his full height, standing over Zavala, forcing him to tip his head right back to maintain eye-contact. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s the air like up there on that high-horse?”

Zavala didn’t shrink back. He stared up at the larger man and replied with one, clipped syllable. “Clean.”

A rumble began in Shaxx’s chest which bloomed into a hearty laugh. “You’re fierce. Shame you spent your time mucking out stables. You’d have made a good warlord.” He stepped back and folded his arms. “If you must know, I defended my territory and the people in it from all-comers. I conscripted troops, yes, I couldn’t do it all by myself. Then I met Saladin. He told me about The Iron Lords, Radegast and the Iron Decree. I realised there was another way. A better way. So I came here.”

“If you say so.” Zavala snorted. “Just don’t expect me to call you Lord,” he added with a sneer.

“After that display, I’d be disappointed if you did.” A silence ensued as Zavala turned away to gaze back at the surrounding countryside. “All right.” Shaxx crossed over to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. “It’s definitely story time now. Why are you so angry?”

“Everyone knows about warlords and what they do.”

“No. This isn’t hypothetical. This is personal. What did they do to you?”

A muscle worked in Zavala’s jaw and he took a deep breath before answering. “It’s not what they did to me.”

* * *

_“Hey, stable boy.”_

_Sasha comes to a halt in the centre of the yard, grinning down at him from atop a sturdy little horse. When it nickered softly, Zavala could swear the horse is laughing at him too. He nods in greeting then returns to sweeping the yard, the pulsing strands of light beneath his skin gathering at his cheeks in embarrassment._

_“Oh don’t make that face,” Sasha dismounts and leads the horse toward an empty stall. “You’re doing a good job.” She sets about fussing over and removing the animal’s tack. “Trigger will be happy for a nice clean bed tonight, won’t you Trigger? Yes you will.”_

_“Trigger?” Zavala leans on his broom to watch this strange animal-human bonding. “His name is Trigger?”_

_“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” She lays the tack over the wall of the stall and sets about rubbing down Trigger with handfuls of clean straw._

_“Nothing, I just expected something a little more. I don’t know. Poetic?”_

_“I like poetry just fine, I like Roy Rogers too though.”_

_“I have no idea who that is.”_

_She chuckles. “Mm. Not many people do these days.” She turns her attention away from Trigger’s grooming and trains her large brown eyes on him. “Are you in any pain? You seem to be healing quickly.”_

_“I’m fine,” Zavala assures her. “Strong constitution,” And an over-zealous Ghost, he thinks to himself._

_[I heard that,] Chides Izanami over their neural connection._

_“Animals didn’t give you any trouble? They kick, you know, you need to be careful.”_

_“None of them tried to kick or bite.” Zavala casts a baleful look towards the Camels in another stall. “I got spat on quite a bit.”_

_Sasha laughs out loud and leans on Trigger’s withers for support. “Oh you poor thing. Yeah, they do that.”_

_Zavala smiles despite himself. The embarrassment is still lingers a little but he finds he doesn’t mind being the one to cause her to laugh. “Are they really better than vehicles in the winter?” Trigger clops over toward him and starts nudging him with his snout._

_“They’re far better adapted to survival than we are, trust me.”_

_“Does it really get that cold?” He pats and strokes the little horse’s neck, sinking his fingers into the thick, coarse hair as if to confirm what Sasha had just told him. He looks up at the sky adding the wistful caveat, “I’ve never even seen snow.”_

_“The novelty will wear off, soon enough. And you’ll be glad of something to keep you occupied when the days get cold and short. A lot of people don’t do much except get drunk and cause trouble.”_

_“Speaking from experience?”_

_“No! Well…” She smirks and gives him a sly, sidelong glance. “Maybe. Now and then.”_

_Zavala is about to ask for details when Trigger darts backwards away from him, ears back flat. “Woah. What did I do?”_

_“Nothing.” Sasha’s expression is deadly serious as she glances around the stalls, at snorting, stomping horses and grumbling camels. A wailing siren sounds from one of the watchtowers._

_“What does that mean?”_

_Sasha pulls a pistol from her holster. “Fallen.”_


End file.
